


Learning to Bend

by Sleepinghookah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, a story told by sirius black, very extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepinghookah/pseuds/Sleepinghookah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black's retelling of how he brought Lily and James together in 6th year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Bend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jily Tropefest over on Tumblr.

I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that the credit for James and Lily finally getting their heads out of their arses and falling in love belongs to me. When I give the best man’s speech someday, it will really just be an ode to my own genius because without me, those two never would have gotten together. No doubt Peter will try to claim some of the credit for himself, but as you’ll see, it was entirely my doing.

People always think I’m just the good-looking one, the dark, brooding one. Remus is supposed to be the brains of the operation, James the muscle, and Peter the comic relief. Or so they say, because they’re all wrong.

Honestly, I’m all four.

So there’s a couple of things you ought to know about Prongs. The first is he can’t turn down a challenge. There is literally nothing too stupid or too dangerous where he’s concerned. Tell him he can’t do something – or Merlin forbid use the word “dare” anywhere within hearing distance – and he’ll tear his body to pieces to prove himself. It’s just how he’s wired.

The second is that he loathes accepting advice. The bloke’s been blessed with one of the cleverest wizards in Britain, nay the world, for a best mate, and he wastes it. If I were to suggest James load up on carbs before a match (something he knows he ought to be doing anyway), he’d start eating like a rabbit just to show me he’s his own man. This annoying habit means that the only way to help James help himself is to manipulate the fuck out of him.

Really, it’s all in the name of friendship.

The last thing you need to know is that Prongs is bollocks with women. Can’t hold a conversation to save his life unless the girl is ugly or something. He doesn’t stammer or go shy like Peter. Oh no, my boy starts talking out of his arse like he’s the second coming of Merlin. Puffs up like a frigate bird in heat.

This can work with some girls as they like a guy with an ego, but it’s not really a foundation for a relationship. And that’s what James wants. He wants to be settled with a wife and a job and a cat and summer house in Godric’s Hollow.

Me? I want my life to be as different from my parents as humanly possible. I’d stop shitting if I could just so I share one less thing in common with my mum. But Prongs is different. His relationship with his parents is healthy or whatever.

To each his own.

So anyway, it all started on an unassuming Tuesday morning. There was nothing seemingly special that day – the post arrived on time, the food was good but unspectacular (I’d been petitioning the house elves to serve deviled eggs with paprika for years now, but they remained stubbornly loyal to shitty scrambled), and Josie Miller was making eyes at me from the Hufflepuff table. You know, the usual.

It was the morning after a full moon, so Remus was in the Hospital Wing and everyone at the table was feeling pretty wrecked. I’m capable of a lot, but a night of no sleep spent barreling into a full-grown werewolf is enough to tire me out. At least I handled it better than Pete, who was fast asleep in his porridge. (Peter is a bit of a ponce. I’m not really sure why we keep him around other than the fact that I was overruled and apparently need to learn how to “play nicely with others.”)

The only member of our group with any energy that morning was Prongs, who should have been the most exhausted of all of us. Moony sideswiped his ribs last night in a move that left some nasty gashes. I could see it was bothering him whenever he leaned forward for another piece of toast, the slightest spasm of displeasure appearing in a crinkle on his brow.

James’ reason for being cheerful in the face of a sleepless night and injury couldn’t have been more predictable: Quidditch. Every Tuesday, James’ owl, Horatio, would deliver his subscription of _The Weekly Quidditch Review_ , and every Tuesday, James would pore through the pages like they contained the recipe for the elixir of life rather than such gems of journalism as “Portman Only Eats Kiwis before a Match: Brilliant Breakthrough?” It was _riveting_ stuff.

I knew because James liked to narrate, reading his favorite bits aloud and ranting about the advice he found disagreeable.

That morning, he was particularly caught up on an article from the Captain of the Falmouth Falcons. Leslie Dupre was the most talent player alive, having set the record for most points scored in one match controlling for the match’s duration. James worshipped her. Or, at least, he had until that morning.

Now, he sat gaping at her editorial, mouth hanging open and just _begging_ for me to lob something into it. (I did, of course – a strawberry that got lodged in the back of his throat and disrupted his outrage for a good two minutes as he choked. But that’s not really relevant to the story).

The editorial was, on the surface, about how imperative flexibility was for a chaser. What it was really on, however, was how women made far superior chasers because of their increased flexibility. Dupre argued that men were better relegated to other positions that emphasized strength and should leave the chasing for women. The Falcons would certainly be looking for a new female chaser in the fall. It was Prongs’ greatest ambition to fly for the Falcons.

“I can’t believe this. This…this…is gender discrimination!” James roared. (A real Gryffindor, my mate)

“Yeah, everyone knows flexibility doesn’t matter like, at all,” Peter chimed in.

I rolled my eyes because Peter knew exactly nothing about Quidditch. He lived with his head too far up Prongs’ arse to learn anything about it. Some may have said the same about me, but they were wrong. James and I were equals. Peter was our jester.

“Please tell me more. I’m’ dying to learn from such a genius flier,” I sneered, causing Peter to shrink in his chair.

“Err…yeah, actually, Wormtail, flexibility kind of does matter. It helps with broom control and reaching new angles for your passes,” James said, unable to let a technical error go even if it didn’t help his argument. “Still! A bloke can be just as flexible as any girl.”

He was interrupted by a very loud, very unfeminine snort. Whipping around to see who it was, none of us was surprised to find it came from none other than Lily Evans.

“Got something to say?” James said, his tone a curious mixture of eagerness to be talking to her and annoyance someone dared disagree with him.

Although, it wasn’t really curious as that about summed up their relationship perfectly.

James adored Lily – hearts in his eyes, skip in his step fancied the pants off her. I could say I didn’t much understand the attraction, but Prongs had kept me up enough nights spelling out her every good quality for me to know what he saw in her – creatively wicked, the hair and personality of a tempest, clever as anyone in their year. More than anything, James just wanted a girl who would kick his arse and there was no better candidate than Lily, though she was unwilling to help with the kiss it better part that was kind of essential to James’ dreams.

Because Lily loathed James. Remember how I mentioned Prongs was a nightmare with women? Take the worst thing you pictured and triple it. That’s how he acted around Evans.

There was no saving him from himself either. I’d given him so many good lines to try over the years. (Tell her: “Your smile’s like an Expelliarmus: simple yet disarming”), but he just continued on acting the prat, wasting my generous help.

So, naturally, I was rather expecting this little conversation to devolve into round 3,042 of bickering and they did not disappoint.

“Just overheard you talking bollocks, that’s all,” Lily said with a shrug.

“And what part, exactly, was bollocks?” James asked.

“Be serious, Potter,” Lily said, not even bothering to look up from her toast. “Women are more flexible than men. It’s just a fact. No need to throw a tantrum just because you found out you’re not the best at everything.”

Prongs was definitely taking their argument seriously or he would have jumped at that opening with something like, “so you admit that I’m the best at most things.” Hell, I almost took it for him because if you dangle something that easy in my face, I’m practically _obligated_ to take it, but James cut me off.

Ears reddened from his rising temper, James said, “So you think it’s right that a woman decides no men can do certain jobs?”

“No, though let’s not pretend that people don’t do the same thing to women beaters,” Lily said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “And I do believe the job should go to the best qualified applicant. For a chaser, that means the most flexible. I s’pose a man could be more flexible than a woman, but it’s unlikely and you most certainly aren’t.”

“I doubt you’re that flexible yourself, Evans. Though if you wanted to show James here, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” I said.

Lily scoffed, all offended, and James got a little dreamy eyed as he imagined what I suggested. What neither of them considered though was that I was right. Evans was fit but not in a “I run ten kilometers for fun” kind of way. I highly doubted she had any more than average flexibility for a girl, while Prongs was right limber for a bloke from all his warm-up exercises.

That was when inspiration struck.

“I bet James could do a split before you could,” I declared.

“What?” Lily asked at the same time James spit out the same question. Lily looked genuinely taken aback, while James was giving me a bug-eyed expression that implied he didn’t know what I was doing, but he didn’t like it.

“What? You don’t think you could?” I said, challenge dripping from every word.

Watching James when he processes that he’s just been dared is right hilarious. There’s a blink of suspicion as the rational part of his mind tries to sort out what your game might be, but then it’s brutally crushed. Jaw set, nostrils flaring, all James can think of is proving you wrong. Of proving himself.

Just then, James was giving me that very bullish expression, and I knew I had him.

“You can’t possibly –” Lily began, but James barreled right over her.

“I know I can learn to do the splits before Evans. It’d be easy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lily snapped, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a move I suspect she knew drove him mad.

Standing up so he could point at her dramatically, James announced, “It means you best start stretching, Evans, because you’re going down! I mean…I’m going down into a split, and you’re going to stay up in a…not-split.”

He’s my mate, but I never said he was a genius.

For her part, Lily looked unimpressed. “Do whatever mad thing you want, Potter, but leave me out of it.”

I kicked Peter in the shin. Hard. He jolted and stared up at me with big, betrayed eyes, and I had to resist rolling my own. I motioned subtly towards Lily until the oaf finally got it.

Loudly, Peter said, “I bet Evans will beat James.”

“I’ll take that bet,” I said. “Either of you want in. Make a little extra money.”

“You shouldn’t gamble on school grounds,” Lily said mildly. The kind of mild where, prefect or not, I knew she didn’t really care. There was a time when Lily would have gone off on us, but she’d mellowed considerably with…I don’t know, puberty.

“Come on, Evans, don’t spoil the fun. If you can do a split before James, you can collect from me. There has to be something you want,” I said.

Before my eyes, Evans lit up like a wand flare, mind already racing through the possibilities. “I want twenty-four galleons, four sickles, and eleven knuts,” Lily said.

“Got something specific in mind?” I snorted.

“The premium potioneer’s set,” Lily said. Then, seeing my dismayed expression at the enormous price she’d set, added, “Come on, I’m just a working class girl, and you’re bloody loaded –” Then wicked as can be she smirked, “– and, besides, I thought you had faith in your good mate, Potter?”

I was not nearly as wealthy as Lily thought nor as wealthy as I’d like to have been. Those days were gone. I was, however, what one could modestly call “well-off.” I could afford to chuck up twenty-five galleons for a good cause.

And, despite my claim, I knew I was going to have to do just that because Lily was damn right. Women _were_ naturally more flexible than men. What was my idiot of a best mate thinking? Did he have to go all delusional every time someone used the word “bet” within hearing distance?

His thick-headedness served my purposes though because I now had them both where I wanted them.

“It’s settled then. May the best stretcher win,” I said, grinning in spite of it all.

 

As it turned out, it took time to develop the kind of flexibility needed to drop into a split. Three months into the bet and neither James nor Lily had accomplished it.

The whole thing became a bore rather fast. I’d forgotten how freakishly disciplined James could be about these kinds of things. Nary a moment passed where he wasn’t stretching in some way. He woke up fifteen minutes earlier every day, he did toe touches between classes, another half hour at night. I even caught him doing it in animagus form during a full moon.

Frightfully obnoxious the whole thing.

Evans wasn’t much better. She wanted that Potioneers’ kit terribly and seeing James unabashedly stretching in Charms would always set her off into a bout of the same thing. The whole time they’d shoot each other dark looks, focused on nothing but one another.

One time, I came across Alice stretching Lily out in the corridor. Evans had her ankle propped on Alice’s shoulder and they were pressed together, pelvises practically touching. It was pretty hot besides the fact that Lily was all but sobbing from the pain – face red as if she’d been exposed to the desert sun for days.

I made some smarmy comment (I can’t for the life of me remember what), and Lily gave me the middle finger. She didn’t stop stretching though. _Nothing_ could stop those fools from stretching.

Case in point, I told Prongs about how I’d caught Lily and Alice, how nicely their bodies had aligned. Absurdly, I was under the misguided impression that James would have the reaction of a normal bloke and daydream about the girl he fancied all snuggled up to another fit girl.

Nope! The only thing my dear Prongs took from that story was that _he_ should have someone stretching him out in the same way too. And, sure, I was happy (well, happy is a strong word, but willing) to help in our dormitory, but he wanted it out and in public. He took to using Peter’s shoulder as a footrest in the corridors where anyone – rival Quidditch captains, professors, Slytherins – could see. It was a good laugh the first half dozen times, but after that, even Snivellus stopped thinking much of it as it just faded into the background. Yet another Hogwarts idiosyncrasy.

The wonders of stretching took up the majority of our conversation for those months too. James would crow to anyone who listened about how once you started it was impossible to stop. His body would protest if he didn’t stretch first thing in the morning. That the more limber he grew, the more he craved it. He was dispensing stretching advice out to groups of girls left and right.

You may be wondering what I had hoped to achieve when I initiated this nonsense. The answer is, I was being the world’s greatest mate and giving James the opportunity he needed to get in with Evans.

I’d given them something new to talk about.

See, they’d fallen into a pattern. He says something arrogant and flirtatious, she bites his head off, he goes huffy, she calls him a toad. It’s a hideous cycle and one they’ve been caught in since fourth year.

This was something entirely new, a disruptor. I was hoping that if I gathered them together and then shook for a few months, something new would fall out.

Nothing happened between them until that spring. I almost missed it at first. I was rather caught up with the new season – flowering trees, girls walking around without robes – and I’d decided to buy and enchant a motorbike once term was over. This required a lot of research if I didn’t want to careen out of the sky and die, so the library and I became acquainted for the first time in my academic career.

With all that going on, they almost snuck it by me, but I started to catch hints that things were changing between James and Lily. She held the door for him after class one day. He helped her pick up her books without making any sleazy comments. Friendly smiles were exchanged in the corridor.

Curious, I decided to play auror and solve the mystery by tracking James for a day. I could pretend this involved considerable skill on my part, but I’ll be honest and say I had the map and the cloak (I also won’t patronize you by explaining what these are), so really all I did was follow James out onto the castle grounds one afternoon.

With the turning of the weather, Lily and James had both had the same idea to take the stretching to the great outdoors. They’d both found their favorite spot. The same favorite spot – atop the crest in a slight hill overlooking the lake with just enough shade from a nearby grey willow tree.

I imagine the first time they ran into each other there a fight ensued. Evans wouldn’t have wanted to share. Neither, however, owned the hill, so they began to stretch in the same spot every day. James has never been the silent type, so that had inevitably led to talking. And, distracted by the prickling pain in his thighs as he tried to force himself into a position no man should ever attempt, he forgot to bluster. He didn’t brag and puff out his chest and make a cock of himself. He just talked.

And Lily, unable to chastise him what with him behaving so nicely, just listened. At first, at least, because it wasn’t long before she was talking back. Then, it was no longer them just stretching near each other, it was them stretching together. A distinction, James would tell me months later, that was terribly important.

When I saw them together that first time, Evans was bent in two, pressing her palms flat to the ground and James wasn’t even staring at her arse. Then, they sat opposite each other, legs spread wide and holding hands, so that they could help each other stretch. They’d take turns, one bending forward. The other pulling.

It was hard to say what was more shocking. Lily willingly touching Prongs or James helping someone on the opposite end of a bet…actually, it was definitely James. He was a competitive bastard and he had taken to referring to Lily as “the enemy” in our dormitory, while I’d always known Lily would come around to Prongs if she only gave him a chance. I mean, what’s not to like?

I’m not one to get sentimental, but spying on them, it was all rather touching. Lily had been the first girl James had daydreamed about holding hands with back when they were scrawny and young. Now, her little hand was intertwined with his with an unselfconscious grip that made obvious this was far from the first time they’d held hands like this.

It may have taken over three months, but my plan was finally working. And, perhaps more importantly, I was starting to believe James could win. You should have seen how far his legs could splay out to the sides, defying everything natural about the human body. Seeing as how I was planning to buy a motorbike, I was feeling a little more attached to my galleons and less inclined to let Lily’s grubby hands snatch them away from me, so I was definitely rooting for him.

Besides, when she was Mrs. Potter, Evans could buy a hundred Potions kits.

 

It was May when the bet finally ended. In a flurry of gangly limbs and whooping cheers, James burst into the Great Hall. He leapt right up onto the Gryffindor table, scattering plates of sandwiches, and shouted for everyone’s attention. Because it was James Potter doing the shouting, every stopped to listen.

“Right, everyone, I’ve finally done it! I can, after all these months, do the splits!”

There was a lot of clapping though I suspect that was mostly from people sick of seeing him spreading his legs all over the castle. (Never thought you’d see that expression used that way, huh?) Some people jeered that they didn’t believe him, but you’d have to be a fool to really doubt it. The man had become as bendy as a straw from the waist down.

Only too happy to show off for an audience, James sank into a split right there on the table. Now, when I say sank, I mean the kind of sinking like when you’re stuck in a pit of quicksand and someone races off to find a rope and you’re still above the surface when they get back a few minutes later. So basically, it was really slow.

You have to give the bloke a break though. He’d only been able to do a split since that afternoon.

After a great deal of cursing, James’ legs formed a perfectly straight line out from his body. He put his hands in the air and cheered. This time the whole Great Hall joined in. I think Dumbledore might have cried.

With James busy, I sauntered over to Lily who had watched the whole thing from near the door. She looked a little proud at James’ success.

“You lose, Evans,” I crowed. “We never did decide what you’d give me if I won. Haven’t quite decided what I want. Any ideas?”

“Sod off,” she said cheerfully.

I clucked my tongue and then said, “I think as my winnings, I’d like you to ask James to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

One fiery eyebrow arched in my direction as if to challenge if I couldn’t do better. I personally thought this was yet another inspired idea on my part, considering I’d come up with it on the spot. I’d never _really_ imagined my boy could win.

“Oy, Potter!” Lily shouted across the Hall, gaining the attention of an elated James. “You’re taking me to Hogsmeade next weekend!”

If James had looked elated before, he looked positively transcendent now. His head nodded enthusiastically and he gave her two thumbs up. (As if she could have missed his roar of yes). He would have made his way over to us then, but Lily was already turning back to me and the crowd wasn’t ready to release him.

“There’s a girl, Evans,” I said approvingly. I’d anticipated more of a fight. (Being a great lover of fights of all kinds, I was about forty percent disappointed, but the other sixty percent was happy for Prongs).

Smirking, Lily said, “Now, we need to discuss the matter of the money you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you any money.”

The smirk deepened. “I was able to do a split three weeks ago. I won.”

I had no idea what to say. There aren’t many people that can bring me up short, but Evans managed it. An explanation for why Lily might have hidden her victory evaded me for at least thirty seconds as I stood there gaping. Lily soaked up every moment of my bafflement.

But then the pieces clicked together and I gasped, “You fancy Prongs!”

“What?” Lily cried, looking cornered.

“You didn’t tell anyone because you knew how much winning meant to him. You’re a goddamn bleeding heart!” I said.

Cross as you please, Lily told me that I had no idea what I was talking about and that I owed her the galleons by the end of term. All her protests were pointless because I _knew_ , and I was the genius responsible for it all. Really, I’d known I was good, but this was above and beyond.

 

So everything worked out perfectly in the end. Lily would be snogging James before the day was out, all denials long forgotten. Prongs would thank me profusely, recognizing that I really was completely invaluable to his life and happiness (not like he ever didn’t recognize it, but it’s always nice to be validated). The two would go on to do a lot of flexible shagging, their newfound limberness providing endless fun. And Lily would get her Potioneers’ kit.

Actually, that part’s not so happy. That ginger totally robbed me.


End file.
